


The Rainbow Connection

by danceswithgary



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Dialogue-Only, Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-24
Updated: 2008-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Again, he says, like it happens all the time. Oh, of course I should have expected you'd make fun of the blind man who's afflicted with allergies to just about everything with flowers and is currently being dragged through an alien Christmas tree farm by a six-foot tall stalk of broccoli."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rainbow Connection

"It's not fair, Major. We didn't even get to stay for dessert! It looked like some sort of not-really-but-almost-chocolate cake, too. She liked me, you know, and I was going to get seconds...maybe even thirds. I think you were jealous because you couldn't Kirk her up."

"Now Kirk is a verb? Believe me, I had no desire to come close to her and the shiny disco ball she was waving around, not after I saw what it did to you. Besides, I kind of think you offended her holiness."

"It was just a little zap. I've had worse than that fixing the transporters. Bzzzt. Bzzzt."

"Stop poking me! I'm not the one who zapped you!"

"You know, maybe it was something I drank or ate...or sniffed. That's it! It was those flowers. I started feeling a little woozy after she bopped me on the head with them. Right before the...bzzzt...bzzzt...."

"I told you no more...come on, Rodney, pick up your feet. You're too heavy for me to carry you all the way back. Dammit, how is it when you're not sneezing into the nearest available high priestess' cleavage, you're tripping over goddamn _pebbles_ and landing in it...face first. Just try to keep it together a little longer. Teyla and Ford are waiting for us at the gate. They were supposed to call in and let Carson know you're hallucinating...again."

"Again, he says, like it happens all the time. Oh, of course I should have expected you'd make fun of the blind man who's afflicted with allergies to just about everything with flowers and is currently being dragged through an alien Christmas tree farm by a six-foot tall stalk of broccoli."

"Broccoli?"

"Your hair alone qualifies you for the vegetable role and you definitely feel like it. You're...firm, not limp like spinach. At least I like broccoli. I'd even say I miss it because that purple cauliflower-like vegetable just doesn't taste the same and it's too mushy the way the cooks prepare it. You're lucky, Major, you could have been an acorn squash or celery or a cucumber...although I'd probably eat those, too. However, if you were a lime, I'd have to 'just say no' and walk...or crawl...back to the jumper by myself."

"God, how can you sound so logical and coherent when you are _so_ wasted. Rodney, listen to me. I'm not broccoli. See?"

"No, no, you're not tricking me into opening my eyes again. You're going two hundred miles an hour and I never go over one hundred on a first date because I get nauseated and the jumper doesn't have air-sickness bags. I checked. They don't even have those emergency lights on the aisle. Do you think Teyla would run through those sexy emergency evacuation procedures before we take off? I'm never sure if I'm seated in an exit row when we're...."

"I suspect Teyla would make you 'practice' with her for suggesting that she perform anything 'sexy' for you. Listen, we're not on a date, Rodney. We're just walking through a nice, safe, _slow_...very, very slow forest. Well, I'm walking; you're sort of...lurching. Anyway, how could I possibly be going that fast while on foot? Wouldn't that break some important law of physics...or at least anatomy?"

"Sure, pretend you don't have a brain under that unwieldy mass of flowery hair, all pistils and stamens. You don't fool me one little bit, Major. You'd manage it somehow. You're always speeding around and getting us into these messes because you keep touching stuff that I tell you not to touch like that glowy harlot who probably tasted like chicken. I don't taste like chicken...at least I don't think I do. Want to try me and see?"

"Uh...not here, Rodney. Maybe later. In private. A whole lot later. Really. Why don't you bzzzt me some more instead and _get your hand out of my pants_ and keep walking. That way. Hey, I mean it. No hands below the waist!"

"That's what they always say. But...I want to know what you think I taste like. Wait, I changed my mind. I want to know what _you_ taste like. I dream about it, sometimes. I can't decide if you'd taste like you look or possibly purple velvet or salty sunshine with clouds. Just let me...."

"Okay, _that_ was...totally disgusting. Tell me, now that you've slobbered all over my arm...and my hand..._and my neck_...do I _taste_ like broccoli or velvet sunshine whatever to you?"

"No, I can't quite...there are definite overtones of...frog with a touch of...spearmint."

"Rodney, I have to admit you are a very _interesting_ man. Exactly, how many times have you licked an amphibian? And wait...did you say you dream about me?"

"Mmm, yeah. Good dreams....really yummy, squishy ones. Hey, did you know you sound like...grass? Sort of whispery with...crickets, but then I guess there would be a crunchy component in there if I stepped on you. Crunch. Crunch."

"_You_ sound as if you've been smoking something like me instead of listening to my golden words of wisdom warning you to stop touching me before we both regret it. Let's keep it mellow, okay?"

"Oh, please, Major. I want to fuck you, not have a discussion about Zen and the art of puddlejumper maintenance. What do you say? Feel like making my dreams come true, you hunk of prime...."

"Where the hell is an Ancient version of a weedwhacker when you need one? Listen, Rodney, as flattering as your proposition is, maybe we should wait until you sleep this _stuff_, whatever it is, off...."

"Okay. G'night."

"Rodney? Rodney! Dammit, we were almost there, too. Ford! Get your ass over here and help me carry him...."

 

. . .

 

"Really, Major, I don't require an escort back to my quarters. Carson says I'm fine now that he was able to reverse the allergic reaction."

"I know, Rodney, I was there when he released you. The thing is, I was wondering if...."

"Listen, while I have no desire to go through that particular experience again, Major, the pollen and Ancient device combination didn't affect you or anyone else. Right? So what's stopping _you_ from going back and taking part in the festival? I understand it was supposed to go on for days. Why waste your time with me?"

"I guess I can't help being curious about something...several somethings...you mentioned on the walk back to the jumper. And you owe me a taste test. In fact, I demand a retest. In private."

"You want me to...taste you? Again."

"You have to, Rodney. Between looking and feeling like broccoli, tasting like a frog, and sounding like crickety grass...I have to say that it's just not easy being green."

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for the 2008 Kink/Cliche Multi-Fandom Challenge: Intoxication and altered states (aphrodisiacs; drugs or alcohol; sex pollen/spores; substances or devices that create arousal, affection, or dependency; speaking or showing the truth while intoxicated; visionary states).
> 
> I may be a little old to claim growing up watching Sesame Street, but still...Jim Henson...**rocked.**.


End file.
